"Dante! Open this door! You can't just leave me locked in here!"

Sienna hammered her fists against the heavy oak door of the master suite. The sound was dull, swallowed by the soundproofing of the penthouse.

She waited, pressing her ear to the wood, hoping to hear his retreating footsteps or the chime of the elevator. Nothing. Just the hum of the air conditioning and the thud of her own frantic heart.

The man who killed his father.

The words echoed in her mind, chilling her more than the silence. Dante had always been a shadow in her life, a boogeyman her brother whispered about, but she never knew the source of his rage.

Now, she was locked in his bedchamber while he went out to hunt a ghost.

She turned away from the door, her breath coming in ragged hitches. The room that had felt like a den of seduction ten minutes ago now felt like a tomb.

She paced the length of the silk carpet, the hem of Dante's oversized robe brushing against her bare ankles.

She needed to know more. If she was going to survive seven nights with a man on the edge of a breakdown, she couldn't stay in the dark.

Sienna approached his desk in the corner of the room. It was minimalist, carved from a single piece of dark stone.

A laptop sat closed, but beside it was a leather-bound journal and a stack of old, yellowed newspaper clippings.

She hesitated. If he caught her snooping, the contract was over. Julian would be behind bars by dawn. But the curiosity was a physical itch.

She reached out, her fingers trembling, and turned over the first clipping.

TRAGEDY AT MORETTI PLAZA: CONSTRUCTION MOGUL KILLED IN HIT-AND-RUN.

The date was fifteen years ago. There was a grainy photo of a younger, devastated Dante standing beside a casket. But it was the sub-headline that made her blood run cold.

Witnesses claim driver was linked to Blackwood Development Corp.

Sienna gasped, dropping the paper as if it had burned her. Her father's company. The rivalry wasn't just about business or money.

It was blood. It had always been blood. Dante didn't just want her to humiliate Julian; he wanted her because she was the daughter of the man he held responsible for his father's death.

A low, mechanical click sounded from the door.

Sienna scrambled away from the desk, her heart leaping into her throat. She barely made it to the edge of the bed before the door swung open.

Dante stood in the threshold. His hair was disheveled, his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, and the scent of rain and copper clung to him. He looked like he had walked through hell and brought back souvenirs.

"You're back," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Dante didn't answer. He closed the door and locked it with a slow, deliberate turn of the wrist. He leaned his head back against the wood, closing his eyes.

The raw power he usually radiated was replaced by something jagged and exhausted.

"Did you find him?" she asked, stepping toward him.

His eyes snapped open. They weren't grey anymore; they were black with a storm of adrenaline. "He's gone. Folded like a lawn chair the moment my men cornered him. He was sent as a message, Sienna. A reminder."

"A reminder of what happened to your father?"

Dante's gaze shifted to the desk. He saw the clippings, shifted just an inch out of place. His expression darkened into something truly terrifying.

He moved faster than she could blink, crossing the room and pinning her against the bedpost.

"You've been digging," he growled.

"I had to know why you hate us so much! You're using me for a revenge that happened a decade ago, Dante. My father is a good man. He would never..."

"Your father built his empire on the bones of mine!" Dante roared, his face inches from hers. "He knew the brakes were tampered with.

He knew I was in the car too. I was twelve years old, Sienna. I watched my father bleed out on the asphalt while your family celebrated a new contract."

He shoved away from her, pacing the room like a caged animal. "And now, here you are. The precious Blackwood princess, offering herself up to save the brother who is just as crooked as the father."

"Then why did you agree to the seven nights?" she cried out, tears finally spilling over. "If you hate us that much, why touch me? Why keep me here?"

Dante stopped. He turned to look at her, his eyes raking over her body in the silk robe. The anger didn't leave his face, but it began to melt into something else. Something hungrier.

"Because the only way to truly destroy a man like your father is to take the one thing he kept pure," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky low.

"And because, God help me, I've wanted to ruin you since the moment you turned eighteen."

He walked back to her, his movements slow and hypnotic. He reached out with his bruised hand and tilted her chin up. "Night One isn't over yet, Sienna.

And I've had a very bad evening. I need a distraction."

"Dante, no. Not like this. Not while you're angry."

"Especially while I'm angry," he countered.

He didn't wait for her to agree. He grabbed the lapels of the robe and pulled her into him, his mouth crashing onto hers. It wasn't the slow, testing kiss from before.

This was a war. It was desperate, demanding, and tasted of whiskey and salt.

Sienna tried to push him away, but her hands betrayed her. Instead of shoving, she found herself clutching his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles.

The heat between them was a physical force, a fire that threatened to burn away the hatred and the secrets.

He broke the kiss, both of them panting. "The bed. Now."

He didn't lead her this time. He lifted her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He dropped her onto the black silk sheets and followed her down, his weight a heavy, welcome pressure.

"I'm going to make you forget your name," he whispered against her throat. "I'm going to make you forget whose daughter you are."

He reached for the silk tie he had left on the bed earlier. He didn't use it to bind her hands this time. Instead, he used it to cover her eyes.

"The Blindfold Rule," he murmured as he tied the knot behind her head. "If you can't see me, you can't judge me. You can only feel what I do to you."

The world went black. Sienna's other senses heightened instantly. She could hear the rustle of his clothes as he discarded them.

She could smell the musk of his skin. She could feel the dip in the mattress as he moved between her thighs.

"Dante," she breathed, her hands searching for him in the dark.

"Hush," he commanded.

His hands were everywhere. They were rough where he wanted her to feel his power and gentle where he wanted her to feel her own desire.

He explored her as if he were memorizing a map, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Every time she tried to speak, he silenced her with his lips. He was thorough, patient, and absolutely relentless. Sienna felt her walls crumbling.

The shame she expected to feel was drowned out by a primal, overwhelming need to be closer to him.

She began to move with him, her hips rising to meet his touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She was no longer a Blackwood.

She was just a woman, caught in the grip of a man who was as much a victim as he was a villain.

Hours seemed to pass in that fever dream of touch and sound. Dante didn't stop until she was trembling, her skin slick with sweat, her voice hoarse from calling his name.

When he finally pulled the blindfold off, the first light of dawn was peeking through the curtains.

Sienna blinked, her vision clearing. Dante was looking down at her, his expression unreadable.

The rage was gone, replaced by a hollow, haunting silence. He looked like a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted and realized it wasn't enough.

He sat up, turning his back to her.

"Get dressed," he said, his voice flat.

"What?" Sienna sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. "The night is over?"

"Night One is over. My car will take you to your apartment to get the rest of your things. You have three hours. If you aren't back here by ten, I call the police on Julian."

He stood up and walked into the bathroom without looking back.

Sienna watched him go, feeling a strange, cold ache in her chest. She had survived the first night, but she realized with a jolt of terror that the danger wasn't just coming from Dante. It was coming from her.

She dressed quickly, her movements robotic. She found her bag by the door and made her way to the elevator. The penthouse was quiet, the staff not yet awake.

When she reached the lobby, a black sedan was waiting for her. The driver opened the door in silence.

As they drove through the awakening streets of New York, Sienna looked out the window. She felt like a stranger in her own life. She had saved Julian for another day, but at what cost?

The car pulled up to her apartment building. She hurried inside, wanting to see Julian, to demand the truth about the accident fifteen years ago.

She burst into the apartment, her heart racing. "Julian! We need to talk!"

The living room was a mess. Tables were overturned, and the glass coffee table was shattered.

"Julian?"

She ran to his bedroom. The door was hanging off its hinges. Julian was slumped against the wall, his face bruised, a bloody rag held to his nose.

"Sienna," he wheezed, looking up at her with terror-filled eyes. "He came back. He said... he said the deal changed."

"Who? Dante?"

"No," Julian whispered, shaking his head. "The other one. The man Dante was looking for.

He said if I don't give him the file Dante is hiding, he's going to kill us both. Sienna, you have to go back. You have to find it."

Sienna stared at her brother and tightened its grip on her heart.

She was a pawn in a game between two monsters, and she was the only one who didn't know the rules.

"A file? What are you talking about, Julian? What file could be worth your life?"

Sienna knelt in the glass shards of their living room, ignoring the sting in her knees. She grabbed Julian by his shoulders, shaking him. He looked like a shell of the brother she used to idolize.

The blood from his nose had stained his white designer shirt, a pathetic contrast to the arrogance he usually wore like armor.

"The Moretti acquisition papers," Julian wheezed, his eyes darting to the hallway as if the ghost was still there. "It's not just business, Sienna. It's evidence.

It's the proof that our father didn't just cause that accident. He planned it. And Dante has the original documents.

If that man, the one who just got out gets his hands on them, he's going to use them to bury us all. Not just Dante. Us."

Sienna felt the world tilt. Her father, the man who had tucked her in and called her his princess, was a murderer? She wanted to scream that Julian was lying, but the terror in his voice was too real.

"Who was he, Julian? The man who was here?"

"Silas," Julian whispered. "He was the driver. He took the fall for Dad fifteen years ago. He wants his payout, or he wants blood.

He told me if I didn't get him that file from Dante's penthouse by tonight, he'd send a copy of the secondary ledger to the FBI. We'll lose everything, Sienna. The house, the name, our freedom."

The weight of it crashed down on her. She had to go back to the lion's den, but not just to save Julian from a lawsuit. She had to become a thief.

"I have to go," Sienna said, standing up. Her legs were trembling. "Dante's car is downstairs. He gave me three hours."

"Sienna, wait!" Julian grabbed her hand, his fingers sticky with blood. "He's taking you to the Starlight Gala tonight, isn't he? Every big name in the city will be there. Use that.

Find his keys. Find the safe. If you don't, we're dead."

Sienna pulled her hand away, a flash of pure loathing for her brother crossing her face.

"You're asking me to betray the only man who is actually telling me the truth, even if that truth is ugly. I'm doing this for Dad. Not for you."

She packed her things in a blur. She felt like a ghost walking through her own apartment. By the time she got back down to the black sedan, the driver didn't even look at her. He just held the door open.

When she arrived back at the penthouse, the atmosphere had shifted. Dante wasn't there, but a team of stylists was waiting in the foyer.

They moved like silent machines, whisking her away to a dressing room she hadn't Forseen before.

two hours, they poked and prodded. They painted her face into a mask of cold, high-society perfection.

They dressed her in a gown of midnight blue silk that clung to every curve, with a slit that went all the way up her thigh.

It was a dress meant to be noticed. It was a dress meant to say: I belong to the man on whose arm I'm standing.

Dante entered the room just as the stylists were finishing. He was in a black tuxedo that made him look like a lethal weapon.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes traveling slowly from her heels to her throat, where a diamond necklace sparked like ice.

"Leave us," he commanded.

The stylists vanished. Dante walked toward her, the heavy click of his dress shoes the only sound. He stopped behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

He placed his hands on her bare shoulders. His skin was hot against her cold flesh.

"You look like a Blackwood tonight," he murmured. "High. Mighty. Untouchable."

"Is that why you're taking me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos in her mind. "To show the world you've finally tamed the princess?"

"I'm taking you because I want everyone to see what I've won," he said. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"And because I want to see how you handle the whispers. Tonight, they won't see a business rival. They'll see my mistress."

Mistress. The word stung, but Sienna didn't flinch. She had a job to do.

The gala was a blur of flashing lights and expensive champagne. The moment they stepped out of the limousine, the cameras went wild. Sienna kept her head high, her hand resting on Dante's forearm.

She could feel the stares of the women and the judgmental glares of the men who used to call her father a friend.

They walked into the ballroom, and the music seemed to dip for a second. The scandal was already spreading.

"Stay close," Dante whispered, his grip on her waist tightening. "And don't speak to anyone unless I'm standing there."

For an hour, she played the part. She smiled when she had to and stood silently while Dante spoke to investors. But her eyes were constantly searching.

She looked for a key, a thumbprint scanner, anything that might lead her to the file Julian described.

Then, she saw him.

Across the room, standing near the balcony, was a man with a jagged scar running down his neck. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo.

He was in a cheap suit that didn't fit, and he was staring straight at her.

Silas.

Her heart skipped a beat. He raised a glass to her, a mocking salute.

"I need to go to the powder room," Sienna whispered to Dante.

Dante followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Silas. The tension in his body became a living thing.

"Five minutes, Sienna. If you aren't back, I'm coming in to get you."

She didn't wait. She wove through the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't go to the powder room.

She doubled back through a service hallway, hoping to find a quiet place to breathe, to think.

But she wasn't alone.

A hand gripped her arm and pulled her into a darkened alcove behind a velvet curtain. She started to scream, but a rough palm slammed over her mouth.

"Easy, princess," Silas hissed. His breath smelled like stale tobacco. "I told your brother the deal. Do you have it?"

Sienna struggled, her muffled cries dying against his hand.

"Dante has it on him," Silas whispered, his face inches from hers. "He keeps a small drive in his inner jacket pocket.

Get it tonight. When he's distracted. When he's... busy with you. If I don't have it by 2 AM, I go to the feds."

He released her, disappearing back into the shadows of the service hallway before she could even catch her breath.

Sienna stood there, shaking. She had to steal from Dante while he was touching her. The thought made her feel physically ill.

She smoothed her dress and walked back into the ballroom. Dante was waiting by the door, his face a mask of fury. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

"What did he say to you?" Dante demanded.

"Nothing. He just... he just looked at me," she lied.

"Don't lie to me, Sienna. I saw you disappear." He pulled her toward a private exit. "We're leaving. Now."

The ride back to the penthouse was silent and suffocating. Dante was radiating a dark, violent energy.

The moment the elevator doors opened into his home, he threw his jacket onto the sofa and turned on her.

"You think you can play both sides?" he roared. "You think I don't know that Silas went to see Julian today? I have eyes everywhere, Sienna. Did he tell you to kill me? Or just rob me?"

"He told me the truth!" she shouted back, her voice cracking. "He told me my father killed your father! Why didn't you just tell me? Why play these games?"

Dante stepped into her space, his chest heaving. "Because I wanted you to find out when it was too late to turn back! I wanted you to realize that your whole life is built on a lie!"

He grabbed her, pulling her flush against him. The anger between them was so thick it felt like electricity.

"Night Two hasn't even started," he rasped, his eyes searching hers. "And you're already trying to betray me. Do you know what I do to traitors, Sienna?"

"I don't care," she whispered, though her heart was racing for a different reason. The drive was in his jacket. On the sofa. Just ten feet away.

"You will care," he promised.

He picked her up, ignoring her half-hearted protests, and carried her toward the bedroom.

He slammed the door shut with his foot and pressed her against it. His hands were everywhere, frantic and possessive.

"I should throw you out," he muttered against her lips. "I should let Silas have you. But I can't. I can't let anyone else touch what's mine."

He began to kiss her, a punishing, desperate thing that left her breathless. Sienna felt the conflict tearing her apart. She needed to get to that jacket.

She needed to save her family. But as Dante's hands found the zipper of her dress, her body betrayed her again. The heat he sparked in her was more addictive than any drug.

She reached out, her fingers fumbling with his shirt, trying to get him to lose his focus.

"Dante," she moaned, her head falling back.

He lifted her, her legs locking around his waist. He walked them toward the bed, but as he passed the sofa, Sienna reached out a hand, her fingers brushing the fabric of his discarded tuxedo jacket.

Just an inch. She just needed an inch.

Her fingertips touched the cold metal of a USB drive in the pocket.

"What are you doing?" Dante whispered, his voice suddenly sharp.

He stopped moving. He looked from her face to her arm, which was stretched out behind him.

Before she could pull back, he dropped her onto the sofa. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the drive she had been reaching for.

He held it up between them, a dark, mocking glint in his eyes.

"Looking for this?"

Sienna froze. "I... I can explain."

"There's nothing to explain." Dante snapped the drive in half with one hand, the plastic crunching in the quiet room.

"That was a decoy, Sienna. I knew Silas would talk to you. I wanted to see if you'd choose me, or the man who helped murder my father."

He stood over her, his silhouette blocking out the light. He looked like the monster she had always feared, but there was a deep, raw hurt in his eyes that he couldn't hide.

"You failed the test," he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "And now, Night Two is going to be very, very different."

He reached for a silk tie on the side table, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tonight, we don't play. Tonight, you learn what happens when you try to steal from the devil."

The phone on the table rang. It was her father's private line. The one he only used for emergencies.

Dante looked at the phone, then at Sienna.

"Pick it up," he commanded. "Let's see what else your family has to lose tonight."

The ringing of the phone was like a siren in the small, charged space between them.

It was a sharp, digital scream that cut through the thick tension of the room. Sienna stared at the screen.

Dad Calling.

Her heart did a slow, painful roll in her chest. Her father never called this late. Never.

Dante stood over her, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the sofa. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

He just watched her with those cold, predatory eyes, waiting to see if she would break.

"Pick it up," Dante said again. His voice was like a low vibration in the floorboards.

Sienna reached out, her fingers trembling so violently she almost dropped the device. she swiped the screen and pressed it to her ear.

"Dad?"

"Sienna? Are you there?" Her father's voice sounded thin. Brittle. Like dry leaves being crushed under a boot. "I... I saw the news.

The photos of you and Moretti at that gala. Tell me it isn't true. Tell me you aren't with him."

Sienna looked up at Dante. He was leaning down now, his face inches from hers, listening to every word. A cruel, triumphant light flickered in his gaze.

"I'm working, Dad," she lied, her voice cracking. "It's a project. A merger. I'm fine."

"He's a monster, Sienna! He's trying to kill us!" Her father started coughing, a deep, wet sound that made Sienna's stomach turn.

"Don't let him near you. He'll use you to get to me. He wants to destroy everything I built."

"I know, Dad. I know. Please, just go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

She hung up before he could say anything else. She couldn't handle the sound of his weakness anymore. Not when the man who was actually holding her life in his hands was staring her down.

Dante reached out and took the phone from her, tossing it onto the cushions. "He sounds pathetic. Is that the man you're trying to save? A murderer who hides behind his daughter's skirts?"

"He's my father!" Sienna shouted, standing up and pushing against Dante's chest. "Whatever he did, he did it for us! You don't know what it's like to want to protect your family!"

Dante's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and twisting it just enough to make her gasp. He pulled her flush against him, his body hard as granite.

"I know exactly what it's like," he hissed. "I've spent fifteen years protecting the memory of a man who was erased because your father wanted a bigger paycheck.

Don't talk to me about protection."

He dragged her toward the bedroom. Sienna stumbled, the high slit of her gown fluttering against her legs. She tried to fight, but the physical difference between them was too great.

He was a force of nature, and she was just a girl caught in the storm.

Inside the bedroom, the only light came from the moon reflecting off the river outside. Dante pushed her toward the center of the room.

"You tried to rob me tonight," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, velvet growl. "You chose the man who blackmailed you over the man who gave you a deal.

That deserves a very specific kind of punishment."

He picked up the red silk tie from the dresser.

"Night Two was supposed to be about conversation. About understanding. But you've proven that you can't be trusted with your eyes open."

Sienna backed away until her heels hit the edge of the bed. "Dante, don't. Please. I'm sorry. I was just scared."

"You should be scared," he agreed.

He moved toward her. He didn't rush. He didn't have to. He took the tie and stepped behind her.

Sienna felt the heat of him against her back, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the smell of the rain still clinging to his hair.

He wrapped the silk over her eyes, pulling it tight.

The world vanished.

"No," she whispered, her hands reaching out into the darkness. "Dante, I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it. You just have to endure it."

His voice was right behind her ear. She felt his hands on the zipper of her dress. The sound of it sliding down was deafening in the silence.

The cool air of the room hit her skin, and she shivered. The dress fell away, pooling at her feet like a discarded skin.

"Rule Number One," Dante murmured. She could feel his breath on her neck. "Since you like to look for things that don't belong to you, you don't get to see anything at all tonight.

You're going to stay in the dark. You're going to listen to me, and you're going to feel me. That's it."

He guided her onto the bed. Without her sight, the texture of the silk sheets felt different. Rougher. Thicker. She felt exposed, a raw nerve in the center of the vast, dark room.

"Dante? Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

She felt a weight on the bed beside her. Then, a touch. It started at her ankle, a slow, deliberate line drawn by a single finger up her calf, over her knee, and stopping at the inside of her thigh.

Sienna's breath hitched. Without her eyes, every nerve ending in her body felt like it was on fire.

"You think your father is a good man," Dante said. She felt him lean over her, his voice coming from somewhere above her chest.

"But did he tell you about the second ledger? The one Julian is so desperate to find?"

"What about it?" she managed to ask. Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

"It's not just about the accident, Sienna. It's about the bribes. The shortcuts. The construction sites that collapsed because your father used substandard steel to save a few million.

People died long before my father ever got behind the wheel of that car."

The finger moved higher, tracing the lace of her underwear. Sienna wanted to close her legs, to hide, but she was frozen.

"Is that true?"

"I don't lie, Sienna. That's the difference between me and the men in your life."

He replaced his hand with his lips. He kissed the sensitive skin of her stomach, his stubble grazing her. Sienna felt a sob catch in her throat. The conflict was tearing her apart.

She hated him for what he was saying, for what he was doing, but her body was responding to him with a betrayal so deep it made her want to scream.

She reached out, her hands finding his shoulders. He was solid. Real. The only thing she could feel in the void.

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

"Because I want you to know exactly whose debt you're paying," he rasped.

He moved his mouth back to hers, but it wasn't a kiss. It was an interrogation. He tasted like whiskey and bitterness, but as she opened to him, the flavor changed. It became something primal. Something obsessive.

The night stretched out into an endless cycle of darkness and sensation. Dante was a phantom in the room, appearing and disappearing, his touch the only thing that kept her grounded.

He pushed her to the edge of her endurance, testing her, making her beg for the blindfold to be removed, but he never gave in.

"Not yet," he would whisper whenever she pleaded. "You haven't surrendered yet. You're still fighting. You're still thinking about that file."

"I don't care about the file!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "I just want to see you! Please, Dante!"

"Tell me," he commanded, his hands pinning her wrists to the pillows. "Tell me you don't want Julian. Tell me you don't want your father. Tell me you only want me."

The room felt like it was spinning. Sienna was lost in the dark, her body humming with a need she couldn't control.

The loyalty she had felt for her family was fraying, worn thin by the truth and the sheer, overwhelming power of the man over her.

"I... I only want you," she sobbed.

The moment the words left her lips, the tension in the room snapped. Dante let out a low, guttural sound and pulled the blindfold off.

The dim moonlight hit her eyes, making her squint. Dante was hovering over her, his face a mask of raw, unfiltered emotion.

He didn't look like a conqueror. He looked like a man who was starving and had finally found a piece of bread.

He kissed her then, and it was different. It was desperate. It was almost a plea.

But just as they were about to lose themselves in each other, a muffled thud sounded from the living room. It wasn't the front door. It was closer. Like someone had dropped something heavy in the hallway.

Dante went still. He rolled off her, reaching for the handgun he kept in the nightstand drawer.

"Stay here," he whispered, his voice cold as ice.

"Dante, no!"

He didn't listen. He moved toward the door, silent as a ghost. Sienna scrambled to wrap herself in the silk robe, her heart hammered so hard she thought it might burst.

A second later, a scream echoed through the penthouse.

It wasn't Dante's scream. It was a woman's.

Sienna ran to the door, throwing it open despite Dante's warning. She reached the hallway just in time to see Dante standing over a figure huddled on the floor.

It was a young woman, no older than twenty. She was wearing a maid's uniform, but her face was covered in blood. She was clutching a leather folder to her chest.

"I found it," the girl gasped, looking at Dante with terrified eyes. "I found the second ledger. But they saw me, Mr. Moretti. They're coming."

Dante grabbed the folder, his eyes wide. He looked at Sienna, then at the girl.

"Who saw you?"

"The men in the black masks," the girl whispered. "The ones Silas sent. They're in the building, Dante. They're in the vents."

As the words left her mouth, the lights in the penthouse flickered and died. The entire building went into lockdown, the red emergency lights bathing the hallway in a bloody glow.

The sound of shattering glass erupted from the kitchen.

Dante grabbed Sienna's hand, pulling her back into the bedroom.

"The file," Sienna gasped. "Is that it? The one Julian wanted?"

"It's the one that kills your father, Sienna," Dante said, his voice grim as he checked the magazine of his gun. "And it looks like Silas is willing to burn this whole building down to get it back."

A heavy thud hit the bedroom door. Then another. Someone was trying to kick it in.

Dante looked at her, his eyes intense in the red light. "I can save you, or I can save the file. Choose, Sienna. Right now."